by Jim Galford
“You really don’t want to know,” he answered.
The two humans grinned and tried not to laugh. Turess stood behind them, appearing confused at what was going on.
“Consider it a shop that sells paid matings.”
“Paid…I…Estin, get us out of here!” snapped Feanne, standing straight and tensing. She looked ready to claw at anyone who came near her.
“No harm will come to either of you,” the human man assured her, his tone soothing. “Nothing happens in this home without everyone’s consent, I assure you. The two of you and your quiet friend will be left alone. Our business has turned more toward knowledge and control over it in the last few weeks. Our repute is far less ill than it once was.”
Nervously shifting to put Estin between herself and the two humans, Feanne growled softly, holding Estin’s shirt as he walked. She stayed one step behind him as he went into the inn, watching the humans with angry fear. Estin knew he would have to explain the purpose of the house more explicitly to her, but that was not a conversation he really wanted to have, let alone on the front step of the inn. She had never spent time in large cities, and this was simply something that someone from the edge of the wilds would not fathom. Matings were done for fun, love, or convenience. Money itself was a difficult enough concept, but this would stretch the limits of her tenuous grasp on human culture.
He led Feanne into the inn, making sure to monitor her tension, ready to intercede if she tried to kill someone for offering her a drink or some other harmless activity. Turess followed them, his attention mostly on Feanne, watching her with a nervousness Estin guessed matched his own.
Once the three of them and the two human prostitutes were inside, the woman closed the door and barred it. The man peeked out the windows. After a moment, they gave each other nods and turned back to Estin, Feanne, and Turess.
“Welcome to the heart of our city’s new leadership,” the woman said, straightening her posture abruptly and taking on such a regal demeanor that Estin felt like he had watched a wildling change their patterning. “Our allies were the driving force in getting control over the city from Liris and her troops, while the priests were the muscle. If you wish to leave the city, tell us and we will attempt to smuggle you past the walls. Anything you need will be gotten for you. We all oppose the Turessian advance, and the three of you play into that. Tell us what you need to help your cause, and it will be done.”
Putting the tip of her nose near Estin’s ear from behind him, Feanne whispered a little too loudly, “What do paid matings have to do with governance of this city? I do not understand this at all.”
“I’ll explain later,” Estin told her quietly.
“Take any room you like and rest,” the human man told them, waving broadly at several halls that left the central room. “You are the only guests at the moment. Your wife may wish a proper explanation. We will be happy to give you time for that, unless you wish for us to explain. Meals will be prepared when you request them.”
Picking a hall at random, Estin led Feanne to the first room he could find, taking her inside a lavish chamber with a massive bed and plush rugs thick enough that his toes sank into them. Before he could close the door, Turess slipped in with them and moved to the edge of the room, watching them expectantly. Estin stared at him a moment, hoping he would get the hint and leave, but he remained still. Sighing, Estin resigned himself to ignoring Turess.
“Money and secrets have power in wars,” Estin explained once the door was shut. “Brothels have both and tend to be ignored by invaders. They probably started getting more powerful when the city was still fighting Rishad, and now that he’s working with them, it became a natural avenue for the flow of information. They have no reason to help the Turessians, but they will not join the fight directly.”
Feanne’s brow crinkled as she tried to work her way through the ideas. “How do you know any of this, Estin? I have never known you to broker information. That seems something better suited to Yoska.”
Estin’s cringe seemed to amuse Turess, who fought to hide a grin. Shooting him a warning glare, Estin replied, “I lived in a city without many wildlings for far too long before we met. I don’t want to go into any more detail than that. I was young and stupid in my own ways.”
Opening her mouth to ask something more, Feanne hesitated, eyes slowly widening. Laughing, she shook her head and sat on the bed. Feanne was unlikely to judge Estin for his mistakes, given a few of her own, but she would certainly find humor in them, which hurt him almost as much as having her judge him.
“And you…,” Estin began again, feeling genuinely angry as he turned on Turess. “How much do you understand?”
Turess gave Estin a fairly convincing look of confusion, but Estin could see in his eyes that he knew exactly what had just been asked of him.
“I’m not falling for that again. Dalania already played that game well past my patience. How much?”
“Ne mott,” Turess replied, holding up his hands defensively.
“I will tear your face off if you keep lying,” Estin insisted, taking a step closer.
Dropping the act, Turess smiled mischievously and shrugged. “Few words. Wanderer talk much. Got words listening. Still learning words.”
“He’s smart, I’ll give him that,” Estin said, going to sit beside Feanne on the bed, who nodded without really looking up from staring at the rug. She seemed entirely lost in thought. “What’s our plan, Turess? You’re the great strategist, or so I hear. What do we do now?”
Frowning, Turess answered slowly, “We have not prophecies. Wandering man still has. Only guesses without them, yes?”
“You’re sounding like Yoska. We need to work on your accent before people think you’re a gypsy. Besides, didn’t you write those prophecies? Why would you need them?”
Turess mouthed the words Estin had spoken, as though sounding them out in his mind. After a moment, he answered, “Spend time dead and memories break. I see in fox’s eyes she understand, yes? My things gave some old thought back, but last days gone. Prophecy not in head anymore.”
“The bracelet and other items?” Feanne asked, nodding at the silver bracelet Turess wore. “Those are how you remembered yourself? I had nothing like that.”
Turess lifted his sleeve and touched the bracelet reverently, nodding his agreement. Raising his other sleeve, he jingled the chain he had wrapped around his hand and wrist. “We have memory when we see or smell things. I use magic to make better memories on some items. Without items, I would be new man. Start over, not best way help.”
“How do we take back your lands from your brother and stop this war?” Estin asked.
Raising a finger to have Estin hold his thought, Turess went to a simple painting of the region on the wall. He studied it briefly and tapped a spot, mumbling, “Jnodin here.” Tracing the area around the city, Turess stopped at another spot far to the west. “We go to old enemy. Enemies from then become friend now. We can go no other way or bright cloud destroy, yes?”
Estin stretched his aching arm, finding the bones moved properly again and much of the pain was gone. He would likely be able to swing a weapon soon. “How long is the journey and when do we leave? I don’t want to stay anywhere near the mists.”
Turess shrugged and sat on the rug, smiling absently as he ran his fingers across it. “Eight days until go and two week to arrive. We wait for dark moon so archers do not put more holes in you two. Only so many holes can be closed before they shoot me, yes? This time I stay dead, and do not want this yet. Do like breathing.”
Sighing, Estin flopped back on the lavish bed, feeling almost as though it were too good for him to be reclining on after so long on the road. He felt filthy and knew he was still covered with dried blood, but it felt so good to relax, even if he knew he should be ready to run. He closed his eyes and attempted to lose himself in sleep, but the bed suddenly bounced.
Sitting up quickly, Estin saw Feanne was standing on the bed, kicking th
e blankets Estin was not on top of into a pile. She flopped on them, twisting and fidgeting as she tried to get comfortable. After a moment, she grumbled softly, pulled an armful of blankets off the bed, and threw them on the floor between the bed and the wall where Turess was sitting. She climbed down onto them and curled into a ball, smiling.
“My wife same way,” Turess noted as Estin got down off the bed to sleep beside Feanne on the floor. “Bed too soft, she say. Ten year sleep on floor as great ruler of much nations. Gave beds to servants instead. Was happier on ground with her than alone on bed.”
Seeing the haunted loneliness in Turess’s expression, Estin felt sympathy for him for the first time. There was more he and this human had in common than he had expected. Perhaps they could work together after all.
Chapter Four
“Another’s Pain”
“Raeln, wake up,” Dalania insisted. She touched Raeln’s arm, snapping him out of the restful state he had put himself in. The physical contact jarred him. “They’ll come for us soon.”
Sitting up, Raeln groaned as his aching back objected. The lash marks had faded for the most part after days of rest and light work, though his muscles remembered the wounds all too well. The clan’s taskmasters seemed to genuinely want their slaves to heal and be capable of working, though that had not helped him much. Punishment such as the whipping was allowed to fester and linger to teach a lesson, but even those wounds were eventually healed by the preserver who tended to the slaves, once they were sure he had suffered long enough. In his case, Yiral had come back after four days, tending to him around the time he had begun to wonder if they would let him die of infection. The delay had left him with deep scars all across his back, where he doubted the fur would ever fully regrow.
Most of Raeln’s current pain came from tired and pulled muscles, which was something no magic tended to do more than ease. Each day of the last two weeks had been identical, with the three of them waking before dawn labor in the woods. Dalania and Yoska, being of lighter frame, had been assigned tasks using small hatchets to remove the bark from the fallen trees and strip away any branches. Raeln had not been so lucky, and his duties ranged from dragging the trees to an open area to be chopped up or felling them himself. A day or two of that would have been easy for him, but weeks were beginning to leave him with pain that likely would not fade for quite some time. He could only imagine how he would feel after doing this for a lifetime. Making matters even worse, a tree had fallen atop him due to another slave’s carelessness the day before, breaking three of Raeln’s ribs. Yiral had healed the damage, but his body still ached, not having had enough rest to fully mend. Even the best healers could do little for the lingering pain he suffered.
A second after Raeln sat up, the door of their hut opened and one of the other slaves came in. The stout dwarven woman grunted a simple greeting to each of them before nodding curtly at the door. “No work today. Preserver Orls wants us all indoors during the council’s visit. I’m the only one allowed out right now to let everyone know.”
“The council is coming here?” Raeln asked, feeling his skin go cold and his ears flatten back. From first-hand experience, he knew the council was dead, after having been taken over by Dorralt. Even their undead bodies were gone now, after they had tried to follow Turess against Dorralt’s wishes. Whoever was coming would be acting on that madman’s behalf. At best that meant a brutal death for Raeln and the others; at worst, it meant the entire clan might be wiped out.
“Not the bloody council itself,” the gruff woman answered, snorting. “They send a couple goons out to check on the clans every month or so to be sure they’re ready for war if we’re invaded. You three get extra roommates while the preservers rearrange the damned huts for their visit. Gotta hide the unwanted slaves, you know. Look respectable and whatnot. They see yer tail and we all get whipped.”
A dark-skinned human woman with greying hair and the markings of a Turessian stepped into the hut behind the dwarf, keeping her head low as she moved. She wore the beaten rags of a slave despite her tattoos, and Raeln could see from the way she tried to hide herself in plain sight that she had served the clan a long time, though he could not remember seeing her at the lumber camp. He had to assume she was a house servant, which would probably be why she was sent down to the slave camp only during visits by the council. All she brought with her was a dirty sack he guessed contained any spare clothing she had, with a bedding mat tied to the outside.
Behind her, a green-skinned orcish man and woman followed, their attention sweeping over the people already in the hut. They were far more confrontational but gave no indication they intended to cause trouble. The two of them practically pushed past the human, moving together to claim a section of floor between Raeln and Yoska’s mats. When Raeln looked at them, both orcs snapped to attention and glowered at him until he turned his attention to the Turessian. All he managed to gather about them before looking away was that both appeared far stronger than he was and had shaved their scalps smooth, something On’esquin had also done for reasons Raeln had never thought to ask about.
While the human woman glanced around nervously, searching for a place to go, Raeln saw Yoska’s attention pique, but he kept quiet. He had said little since the brand had been burned onto his arm. To Raeln, he seemed to be biding his time or trying to get over an anger he could not cool. That likely meant a knife in someone’s throat before he was back to normal.
“Keep quiet and don’t draw attention to any of us,” the dwarven woman warned, pointing an accusing finger at Raeln. “If your fuzzy ass gets us whipped…”
“I won’t do anything,” he told her firmly, folding his legs under him atop his mat. “I learned my lesson.”
The dwarven woman’s eyes narrowed and she snorted again. “I wasn’t born here, wildling. I know that look in yer eyes. Yer a damned fool, and you’ll do something stupid sooner or later. I can see it in you. If you don’t, yer friends will be stupid. New foreigners are always the worst. Yer gonna be the idiot that ruins everything around here.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Turning to the Turessian woman, the dwarf added, “Call me if they get touchy. I’ll bash their heads and remind ’em who’s the boss when the masters are away. The orcs tend to keep to themselves, so don’t expect no chatty days with them. They will protect ya if they have to, but mostly they just don’ care.”
Smiling demurely and bowing her head a little lower, the Turessian said nothing. She moved into the hut and took a spot along the wall where she would not intrude on the space of the others.
The orcs pointedly ignored everyone, huddling together for warmth in the frigid hut.
As soon as the dwarf closed the hut’s door, Dalania slid over to the newcomer. The human woman cringed slightly and hugged her sack to her chest. “We won’t hurt you,” Dalania told the older-looking woman. Every so often, Raeln had to remind himself that Dalania was easily a hundred years old, if not older. She was likely the oldest person in the village, despite appearing little more than thirty if she were human. “None of us will. Can you tell me your name?”
The Turessian brushed a loose strand of her long hair out of her face and studied Dalania for a long moment before answering. “Ceran. I will only be staying until the council leaves…”
“You can stay as long as you need,” Dalania offered, smiling warmly at the woman. “Would you mind talking about the clan or the council’s visits? We don’t hear much down here. I’m guessing you’ve been around longer than we have.”
Ceran shook her head and clutched her sack more tightly.
From the other side of the room, the orcish man said gruffly, “She doesn’t like talking to strangers. Tried prying information out of her myself on the way down, but she wouldn’t say anything. In case you were going to bother asking, I’m Ildorn and this is Vertin. Born and raised in the next clan over…until a council visit, when they kicked us out last month and sent us here. Not that you asked.”
Raeln looked to Ildorn, who stared at him unblinkingly—the usual orcish greeting—and then over at Ceran, who was making an effort to avoid staring at anyone. To his surprise, he caught her glancing his way repeatedly. He wondered at that but forgot as Yoska suddenly spoke loudly.
“Will be long day, yes?” asked Yoska, leaning back against the wall. “I spend many years to be this old and lazy. Working here may ruin my boyish figure, no? I think we all wish for easier life now.”
Ceran stifled a soft laugh as she pushed the bag behind her up against the wall. Once the sack was no longer within reach of Dalania, Ceran seemed to relax immediately. The simple behavior struck Raeln as odd. He had thought she was nervous just being with all of them, but the change in her looked more like she was trying to hide something. It reminded him of how his sister had acted one day when she had accidentally burned his bed to ash and was trying to keep him from going near his room.
“If we need food or anything during the day,” Ceran began, glancing quickly at each of them, “the wanderer or fae must go. The council would be unhappy to have the dog outside during their visit. The orcs will likewise be punished or killed. The council is very unpleasant of late.”
“And what about you?” asked Dalania.
“I should stay right here,” Ceran answered firmly, without explaining why.
Yoska sat forward, drawing her attention. “What is plan for day, then? We sit and play cards with no cards or tell old stories? What do other slaves do during visits?”
“They wait quietly until they can resume their duties, wanderer. We should do the same. We do not want attention on this hut. Sit back, close your yapping mouth, and wait.” Ceran met Yoska’s gaze with one stern enough that Yoska actually lowered his eyes and backed off, clearing his throat. Raeln no longer had any way to guess at her motivations, watching her rapidly shift between shy and confrontational.
The two orcs muttered agreement as they settled in to sleep on the bare floor. Raeln realized that in months past, he would have seen them as rude. But after working years—or possibly their whole lives—for the Turessians, a day of rest probably was the greatest reward they could receive. Orcs were not the most open of people to begin with. Every orc he had ever met had been gruff, though a good portion of the impression they left seemed to draw from both their bulky, muscular builds and the large tusks that poked out of their lower jaws, making them seem rougher than they might actually be. On’esquin had actually been one of the more gentle people he had ever met, though he had looked even rougher than these two, having had a few hundred extra years to harden.